Consolation Prize
by R.J. Anderson
Summary: While driving Sydney home, Weiss attempts to find out what's troubling her -- with some surprising results. Post-ep for "Repercussions".


CONSOLATION PRIZE  
by R.J. Anderson

As Weiss drove Sydney home that night, he could tell something was wrong. Usually she seemed comfortable in his presence, even if she didn't feel like talking. But right now the silence in the car was thick enough to stifle, and Sydney kept staring out the window as though she'd never seen L.A. before.

He stole another sidelong glance at her as the streetlights slid across the hood of the car, up her body and over her averted face. Five minutes ago she'd come out of the hospital without her jacket, hugging herself against the evening chill, and got into the car without saying a word: her hunched shoulders and folded arms had not relaxed a muscle since.

Strange -- she'd seemed at ease in the hospital room, or at least as much as anybody could expect under the circumstances. She'd even smiled at his guitar-playing anecdote, teasingly called him "Poor baby." It had seemed to Weiss then that if she could laugh and make jokes with Mike and Lauren around, she must be getting better.

Now, though, it didn't look that way. Not at all.

It must have happened when she went back to get her jacket. She'd seen something, heard something, that upset her. But what?

He cleared his throat. "So, you want to tell me what's up?"

She stirred a little, as though waking from reverie, and her eyes flicked warily to his. Then she smiled, a too-bright smile that had no heart behind it. "Nothing. I'm fine. Just -- thinking."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Let me tell you something, Syd -- you may be an ace in the field, but with your friends, you are the worst liar ever."

"No, really, Eric --"

"And now you're trying too hard." She almost always called him _Weiss_. He didn't mind that; in fact he kind of liked it. After all, even once she and Mike got together, she'd still kept calling him _Vaughn_.

She let out a long breath and closed her eyes, as if to shut out the world and everyone in it. "It's stupid, that's all. I'm being stupid. I shouldn't have gone back."

"What, did Lauren say something to you?" It wasn't like Lauren to be catty, or at least it hadn't been until Syd came along -- and Weiss could hardly blame her for that: Sydney Bristow was enough to give even the most poised and professional woman an inferiority complex the size of Echelon. Still, he'd have thought Lauren would be too happy right now that Mike was alive to harbor ill-will toward anyone, even Sydney...

"No! No, it wasn't... she didn't do anything wrong. Really." She paused, added in a lower voice that held more than a touch of bitterness, "Nobody did."

"So what...?" he began, but the expression on her face stopped him. She was staring straight ahead into the night, the strong line of her jaw set with a stubbornness that made her look strikingly like her father. And not just Jack Bristow in his usual reserved-but-polite mode, but Jack Bristow in full _if you disturb me right now I will garrotte you with your own necktie and leave you dangling from the coat rack -- nothing personal_ mode.

Weiss shut up.

By the time he pulled the car into its usual parking space outside the apartment, however, it was twenty minutes later and Sydney seemed to have thawed a bit. She looked merely troubled now, head bent, her sleek brown hair almost hiding her face. With forced casualness Weiss turned off the ignition and pretended to be interested in adjusting his side mirror, giving her the opportunity she needed to open the door and walk away.

She didn't move, however, just sat there looking at her hands. Finally ready to talk? Well, it was worth a try. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "Look, Syd --"

Her head came up, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He had barely a second to realize that her gaze had focused on his mouth before she leaned forward swiftly and kissed him.

Kissed.

Him.

All the gears in Eric Weiss's brain seized up. He'd never even dreamed of kissing Syd -- okay, okay, he had. But even if he had allowed himself to take the idea seriously -- which he hadn't, of course -- he'd have figured they'd have to be on the verge of certain death, or else cross-eyed drunk, before he'd ever dare make that move.

Only they weren't, and he hadn't. She had.

Her mouth was every bit as lush as it looked, and her soft exhalation of breath as she gripped the back of his head, holding his lips against hers -- did she really think he was going to _pull away?_ -- sent a shiver through his whole body. She smelled incredible. She felt incredible, too, all velvety skin and soft curves, with an underlay of lithe muscle that was way more sexy than it should have been, considering he didn't have nearly that much muscle himself. But -- yeah. Sydney Bristow, the real live Sydney Bristow, was kissing him. And she knew how to kiss, oh man, did she ever. 

When she finally let him go, he had to repress the urge to whimper. Mercifully, it was only a second before his brain started working again. He forced his dazed eyes back into focus and said hoarsely, "Whoa. Where did that come from? And don't tell me you've suddenly learned to appreciate my subtle charm, because we're both smarter than that."

She recoiled in obvious dismay, her brows pulling together in an expression of distress that he had no doubt was genuine. "Weiss -- I'm sorry. I shouldn't --"

Yeah, she'd got the picture, all right. "Hey. Hey hey hey, none of that," he said softly, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a fraternal -- or at least he hoped it came across as fraternal -- squeeze. "Nothing to be sorry for. Just tell Uncle Weiss what's on your mind."

For a moment she did not reply, just sat there gazing into the darkness, eyes huge in her pale, stricken face. He was just about to nudge her when she answered at last, her voice barely audible: "Nobody wants me."

Weiss stared at her, then let out a snort of a laugh -- he couldn't help it. "Syd, are you kidding me? Let me tell you, if there's any guy you've ever met who _doesn't_ want you, he's either in a coma or he's got it for Vaughn instead."

She gave him a startled look, and he realized what he'd just said. _Whoops. Nice one, Eric. Ever heard the term 'dead giveaway'? _"Uh, but don't tell Mike I said that. He thinks we're just friends." 

__

Oh, yeah, like that's_ going to help._ By now Syd had to know as well as Weiss did that if he were going to switch teams, it would not be for the sake of a guy he'd once seen sporting a mullet and a zit like a third eye, playing air drums to Def Leppard with a Cheeto up each nostril. But it was the only escape route he'd left himself.

Fortunately, it turned out to be a safe one. Sydney half-choked on a laugh, and the tension broke. Then she smiled, a real smile that showed a glimmer of teeth and shone past the tears in her eyes. "Thanks, Weiss."

"Thanks. Thanks for what? That was a seriously lame attempt at consolation. Look --" he shifted around to face her -- "You're lonely. You miss Mike, and you want him back but you can't have him, and yeah, that sucks." He lowered his voice on the final word, softening its bluntness, and was gratified to see her nod. He went on: 

"But you're going to be okay, Syd. You're stronger than this. And you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to me." He paused. "Though, you know, if you're just wanting to stay in practice --"

That got another laugh out of her, if a slightly sheepish one. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Nah, don't bother." He waved a hand with an airy dismissiveness he did not feel. "This didn't happen, Syd. Really. It didn't. Nothing's changed, OK? We're buddies."

"Thanks," she said again, softly.

He leaned over and kissed her -- on the cheek, not lingering more than the single second that friendship demanded. "You're a good person, Syd. The best. Now get out of my car."

"Okay." Another smile, her eyes dry now. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah."

Then she was gone.

Weiss waited until the apartment door had opened and closed behind her; then he leaned back in his seat and blew out a long breath. So close. He'd nearly screwed up everything, with that stupid crack about all the guys wanting her. Which was ironic, because up until recently it wouldn't have been true.

Before she'd disappeared two years ago, Weiss had been privately amused by the way every unattached guy in the CIA seemed to be in love with Sydney Bristow. Vaughn, of course. Marshall. Will Tippin. Everybody except him. Sure, she was hot and all, he'd have had to be dead not to notice that, but she was Mike's girl and anyway, he didn't even know her that well.

Since her return, however, their relationship had changed. With Mike married and all her old friends dead or gone, she'd needed somebody to confide in, someone she could trust, and Weiss had stepped into the gap. Still, it wasn't until he really started hanging out with Syd, helping her unpack boxes and move furniture, getting her sloshed on bad tequila and listening to her pour out her sorrows, that he realized how easy it could be to fall in love with this girl. And by then, of course, it was already too late.

He was too smart not to know that the timing was all wrong for anything real to happen between them, even if he were crazy enough to think it ever could. Much as his hormones might like to believe otherwise, it hadn't really been him she was kissing tonight. She hadn't wanted Mike's best friend, or even her own; she'd wanted Mike, and Weiss was the closest thing she could get. Not exactly the beginning of a great romance.

On the other hand, he thought as he got out of the car and locked the door behind him, even if she'd only been looking at him as Vaughn's understudy, she'd kissed him of her own free will. Which said one good thing, at least: she didn't find him repulsive. Nor, it seemed, was she in any danger of mistaking him for a brother. And even though the kiss and its aftermath had created a couple of awkward moments, it hadn't destroyed their friendship.

It wasn't much, but hey, he'd take it.

Weiss tossed his keys in the air, whistling, and headed up the walk to his apartment.

THE END


End file.
